I Will Cleave
by Thalion Estel
Summary: A moment of reflection from Arwen's perspective, revealing a bit of how she views her choice, her future, and her beloved Aragorn. Bookverse. A one-shot to celebrate a big anniversary. Disclaimer: I do not own this cover image.


**Dedicated to and inspired by my dearest beloved. We may be sundered from one another at present by many miles, and we may be burdened by many toils and sorrows, but it will not always be so. I take heart in the hope and promise of being together in person again soon—and one day being your wife. I love you.**

…

The needle in Arwen's hand finished its last stitch with careful precision before the thread was cut and the loose ends tied down. Elrond's daughter set aside her sewing tools and looked over the great project which was now at last complete, a small sigh gracefully escaping her lips.

 _I will cleave to you, Dúnadan, and turn from the Twilight._

Those had been the words of a time long past (by the reckoning of mortal men), yet in her mind, they remained as fresh and real as though just spoken. Today they carried the same mixture of hopeful resolve and potent grief that had been present nearly forty years ago when they were uttered on that Midsummer evening in Lothlórien. Although she was certain that she would never truly regret them, she often pondered how she would be able to bear this doom.

Arwen closed her eyes for a moment and let her thoughts depart from her sorrow and turn to her beloved. She feared for his safety as he trekked the perilous wastelands of Middle-earth and fought the battles which boasted nearly impossible odds. Her prayers were ever for him, and her thoughts never left him for long. Yet she had confidence in his wisdom and ability, and her foresight told her that he was indeed called to a high destiny.

She opened her eyes to survey her now completed craft. It was a banner of black cloth, smooth to the touch and yet hardy for the winds of battle it would surely see. On it was displayed the white tree of Gondor, and above that, seven stars and a crown as the signs of Elendil. Arwen had skillfully sewn in gems for the stars and _mithril_ with gold for the crown, demonstrating the nobility, right, and honor of the one who would bear this standard. It was a great and kingly work.

Arwen ran her hands lovingly across the banner, but a small tear slipped down her fair cheek as she did. She had been separated from her dear Estel for too long, and as the darkness grew and the hopes of many were quenched, the Evenstar longed to be held in the arms of her love. She had seen much evil in her long years, yet somehow the eyes of Elendil's heir kindled hope in her heart that she had never known before. She missed him dearly.

 _Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it._

She had not said those words as encouragement to a man who would go to die in battle. She had not spoken out of false hope or flattery. Rather, she had stated what she believed to be true, and she still believed it. Aragorn was as honorable and worthy a man as she had ever known.

No matter how high her lineage, she would never consider Aragorn to be of less nobility than herself. In fact, as she took the standard in her hands and gently rolled it up, she wondered at the blessing she had been given in receiving love from a man as worthy as Aragorn. He put his own needs aside for the sake of others. He was wise but willing to take on great hardship in order to pursue what was right and true. He displayed both unfeigned humility and capable leadership. He was courageous but not rash, quiet but not shy, kind but not slothful. His love for Arwen was not only genuine, but it was gentle and tender. He cared for her and cherished her in a way words could hardly express. It was plain how much he wanted to know and serve her. The Eldar race had many great princes and noble warriors, but in place of Aragorn, Arwen would have none of them.

Him alone did she love.

There would be much sorrow if she embraced this doom; that she had always known. If she stayed in Middle-earth to be Aragorn's wife, she would wither away as a mortal, one day facing the pitiless Death, and she would be sundered from her kin beyond the confines of the world. That was a high cost, more than she could describe and more than she could now comprehend. But a high cost is always associated with a very precious thing, and Arwen knew as she tied several cords around the banner, securing it for transport, that she was willing to pay the price.

Her elven heart called her to the West, but she knew that the joy it promised, while being true, could not be for her complete. The reason for this was that her highest delight and dearest dream would only be realized in union with the one she cherished most.

And so she would wait. She would wait while her beloved fought in many battles, endured many hardships, and overcame many evils to win her hand. His devotion to her in all his labors kept her from despair, and it fueled her desire to one day become his bride. His love to her was so plain and real and rich; to gain the West but reject this gift would be the choice of a fool.

"The days are now short," Arwen whispered, clasping her work tightly. "Either our hope cometh or all hope ends."

And it could not be that all hope would end, for she had seen Hope himself, and he would not fail her now.

…

 **I hope y'all enjoyed little spark of life from my muse! Even though I'm pretty busy, I just** _ **had**_ **to make time to write this one; it's a gift to my beloved for the one year anniversary of our relationship. Can you tell that I'm happy? :) Please be sure to leave me some feedback if you feel so inclined! Thanks for reading!**


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